


Make Me Believe Again

by lysachan



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 02:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17840888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysachan/pseuds/lysachan
Summary: Ava is twelve when the letters suddenly appear, in a beautiful cursive script, the black ink in a stark contrast with her fair skin. With wonder she traces her fingers along the smooth lines, now permanently imprinted on the inside of her forearm, and senses a faint connection to someone, somewhere. // Soulmate AU





	Make Me Believe Again

**Author's Note:**

> I was writing something else entirely when this popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone until I jotted it down.
> 
> My take on the Soulmates AU trope.

Ava is twelve when the letters suddenly appear, in a beautiful cursive script, the black ink in a stark contrast with her fair skin. With wonder she traces her fingers along the smooth lines, now permanently imprinted on the inside of her forearm, and senses a faint connection to someone, somewhere.

_S.L._

The letters will become almost sacred to her over the years; they are the undeniable proof that she has a soulmate out there, waiting for her, just as she, herself, is waiting for them.

_A soulmate._

Ava rushes to her parents then, proudly shows the magical alteration to her body, and they are just as excited as she is, telling her how there’s someone special out there for her; someone with the name Sam, perhaps. Or maybe it will be Stephen or Seth. They tell her that she will meet him when she’s ready, when the universe thinks she’s ready.

“Just like we found each other,” her mother explains, glancing at her father.

“How will I know, mummy?”

“You’ll know. It is inevitable, my darling.” Her parents are smiling, and Ava is filled with anticipation she carries with her for a long time.

Ava believes. She so wants to believe.

********

At sixteen, a boy named Samuel LaMontagne asks Ava out on a date, and they kiss in his car. Ava’s stomach drops for an entirely different reason than what she had imagined.

Suddenly terrified, she bolts.

She runs home, tears running down her cheeks and Samuel’s confused and offended voice ringing in her ears. She locks herself in her room, not agreeing to come out until the next day when her father threatens to kick in the door if she doesn’t. It takes her a while to accept it; that there will never be a _Sam_ ; or Stephen, or Seth for that matter. Rather, she might come across a girl named Sophia, or maybe Sarah.

Ava doesn’t tell her parents until she’s 21, in college, and head over heels in love with Sonya Lewis. The twinge of disappointment in their eyes doesn’t go unnoticed, but she’s too happy to dwell on it. The curved initials on Sonya’s ankle match Ava. She still believes in soulmates, and she is quite sure Sonya is hers. No, she _knows_ she is. So the fact that, after coming out, she doesn’t call her parents as much, doesn’t visit them quite so often anymore, seem less important than coming home to Sonya.

That is, until she walks in on Sonya screwing some girl from the Political History department, and her world changes irrevocably.

Ava painfully realizes she’s too soft, too caught up in the ridiculous notion that her life will imitate a romantic comedy like she’s always believed. Like her parents cruelly made her believe. The letters on her arm are now more of a burden than anything; they’re glaring up at her almost mockingly whenever she makes the mistake of glancing at them. She can’t shake the thought that Sonya was it, her soulmate, her one shot at happiness. She feels like a failure, knowing that her soulmate didn’t want Ava like Ava wanted her.

It wasn’t supposed to go like that.

Ava finishes her International Marketing degree with the knowledge that she never wants to do anything related to it. Since Sonya, she has turned bitter, losing the once easy connection with her peers in the process and not really knowing how to form human contacts. She hasn’t spoken to her parents in a year, apart from a short phone call following a Christmas card they sent (Ava promptly ended the call once her mother suggested she might still find a nice, young man to settle down with). She still dates, sure, but it’s pointless, and the sole reason they aren’t mindless hook-ups is simply because she refuses to call them that. She still has some class, after all.

It is after one such humiliating night that Ava—still slightly hangover—ends up applying for the FBI and promptly forgets all about it until there’s a letter in the mail that says she’s been accepted. She nearly doesn’t go, nearly tosses the letter into the bin without a second thought, but then her eyes catch a glimpse of the black markings on her skin, and she’s suddenly determined to be the best.

Ava never does anything half way.

With newfound motivation, she passes the training at the top of her class and rises to the better positions in record time. She is _good_ at what she does, respected, and, apart from the occasional moment of self-doubt, she no longer thinks about the message etched on her skin. She keeps her hair in a tight bun—she rarely has her hair down anymore—and the tailored FBI suit fits her like a glove. She’s the poster child for the bureau, the one the new cadets call the Dragon Lady. She dedicates her life to her work, because nothing else matters.

She doesn’t believe. Ava doesn’t even _want_ to believe.

********

Ava has been at the bureau for nearly ten years when she meets one Sara Lance. She arrives at a crime scene, knowingly flashes her FBI badge as abrasively as she always does, and expects the gumshoes to scatter under her icy stare.

“Would you please move, you morons are ruining my crime scene.”

Nothing goes as Ava planned from thereon out.

“Detective Sara Lance.” A hand is stretched out towards her, but she doesn’t take it. Because this Detective Sara Lance apparently refuses to budge, messing up _her_ crime scene in the process.

Ava only momentarily wonders, as it has been a long time since she crossed paths with anyone bearing the once so important initials. She takes a closer look at the woman before her, feeling her entire being fill with… _annoyance_. Because Sara Lance is quickly turning out to be the most infuriating person she’s ever met.

“This is within FBI jurisdiction now; you and your buddies can go back to your donuts.”

Sara isn’t at all fazed by this, which irritates Ava to her core. Though, Sara does draw her hand back.

“Okay, rude. Besides, I prefer gummy bears.” Sara rolls her eyes, but that annoyingly cocky smile doesn’t falter. “I didn’t catch your name, Madame Polyblend Pantsuit.”

It takes all of Ava’s willpower not to take the bait. Instead, she plasters on a false smile in hopes of finally getting rid of the blonde.

“Supervisory Special Agent Sharpe.”

“Huh. That’s a mouthful.”

“Please, remove yourselves form my crime scene.”

For a moment longer, Sara’s eyes linger, an eyebrow raised, but she then turns on her heels and saunters away with more swagger than would strictly be necessary. _Not_ that Ava notices, because she doesn’t pay attention to that sort of things. She absolutely does not.

With one final glance at the retreating detective, Ava turns back to the job at hand with a huff. She has a crime to solve.

********

It is not like she thinks about Sara Lance after that. Well, depending on your point of view, and Ava’s point of view is that she hardly thinks of the other woman. She only reads her personal file one evening, because the detective’s name happens to pop up during another investigation. And because she’s always found thorough research crucial. Again, a point of _view_.

Nevertheless, it is by reading said file that Ava discovers how good Sara is at her job, which, again, _annoying_.

Sara’s a decorated detective – despite the fact that her methods do not always seem to follow basic law enforcement procedures. The latter part, at least, is a clear flaw in Ava’s book. She pours herself another glass of whisky and proceeds to tackle the detective’s vast case history, only realizing the time when her phone makes a noise and the clock is just too much.

Damn Sara Lance and her extensive career.

She runs out of bourbon due to her little stalking operation, though she refuses to call it that; she’s simply familiarizing herself with an adversary. They’ve only met once, but Ava feels like she needs to prepare for _something_. In any case, it is precisely due to the stalk-, no, _research_ , (and her lack of booze) that she bumps into Detective Smug Face the second time.

_Goddammit._

Ava has just picked up a new bottle of Macallan single malt when she, quite literally, runs into Sara. What are the fucking odds? She should try playing lottery with the luck that she has.

“Excellent choice, Agent Sharpe.” Sara eyes the bottle in her hands, clearly impressed. “Didn’t take you for a whisky kind of person.”

“What are you doing here?” Ava’s voice is exasperated.

“This is a liquor store, isn’t it?” Sara glances around the store in jest. That irritating grin is back, and Ava wants to punch it off her face.

“Whatever.”

“Maybe you could help me.” Sara holds up a bottle of Merlot. “Would you buy this for someone named Emily?”

“I peg your pardon?”

“I have a date, with a girl. Emily,” the blonde explains like it’s obvious. “Do you think this bottle will do?”

Ava can’t quite explain why her stomach drops the way that it does. She doesn’t really want to analyze it either, because as far as she’s concerned, the letters decorating her skin are irrelevant; they don’t hold any power over her anymore. She refuses to admit that they do, because they _don’t_.

Nevertheless, Sara’s words solidly eliminate the _possibility_ of anything, which shouldn’t matter at this point anymore. A small voice at the back of Ava’s mind tells her that it does, but Ava swiftly silences it.

“Buy whatever you like,” she grumbles, her voice harsher that necessarily intended.

Sara’s eyes narrow.

“What is your problem with me?”

“Excuse me?” Ava suddenly feels deflated. “There is no problem. We’ve met once; you messed up my crime scene, water under the bridge.”

“I did not mess up your crime scene, lady. That’s bullshit, and you know it.” Sara points an accusing finger at her direction, but she’s still not particularly riled up - much to Ava’s disappointment.

“Look, Miss Lance, I have my way of doing things. Just because you generally like handling your work in a rather untraditional manner doesn’t mean it’s the right way to go.” Ava doesn’t realize her mistake until it’s too late.

_Shit._

“Agent Sharpe.” The glee in Sara’s voice is obvious. “Have you been snooping around in my personal file?”

“No.” It sounds more defensive that Ava would like.

“You’re so full of it.” Sara’s smirk is blinding. Ava kind of wants to punch her. Again. “Have a lovely day, Sharpe. Enjoy the whisky.”

With that she’s gone with the Merlot, and Ava thrusts the Macallan back onto the shelf, swapping it for a cheaper alternative just out of spite.

She regrets it the moment the soapy-tasting liquid touches her tongue later that evening and grimaces.

_Sara Lance is a goddamn menace!_

********

If Ava’s being completely honest, she hits the punching bag a little too forcefully on purpose, and the twinge of pain in her shoulder tells her she should take it easier. It doesn’t stop her from landing another punch, though, beads of sweat running down her temple as she does so.

She has come to the conclusion that Detective Lance ruined her perfectly balanced life by invading her damn crime scene. Ava hates that small, treacherous part of her which perked up the moment she found out Sara’s name; she is supposed to have gotten past that by now, supposed to be able to shut down the part of her brain which cared. But, apparently, all it took to undo years and years of work was a certain blonde detective who has the audacity to treat Ava like she’s somehow unreasonable.

Another hard punch lands on the bag.

And it’s not like Ava cares about Sara. Like, _at all_. But the fact that the small seed of hope the detective managed to plant was crushed just as quickly by the very same person announcing her date with the random Emily person, affects Ava more than she’d like to admit.

The next few punches make her shoulders burn in agony.

She needs to distract herself somehow.

Exhausted, Ava leans her hands on her knees and pants. Yes, she needs to get out there; she needs to get a date.

********

Getting back into the dating scene is not as easy as Ava thought. On a whim (and _slightly_ under the influence) she decides to create an Upswipz profile and kind of goes a tad overboard with the swiping. After two, absolutely disastrous matches and attempts at a date—when did a date become synonymous with a hook-up?—she settles for a lunch date instead with a woman named Stephanie. It’s rather inconvenient that Upswipz doesn’t display people’s last names, and she’s forced to set up a date in order to find out if the initials match.

(Granted, she did first try messaging people with “Hey, what’s your last name?”, but, as it turns out, people tend to be quite suspicious on dating apps. After the fifth “What a creep!” reply, she decided to change tactics.)

Now that Ava thinks about it, she should definitely send customer feedback about that.

It is the aforementioned lunch date why she, later that week, sits in a booth of her favorite café when Sara steps into the very same establishment. 

Because of-fucking-course the detective would show up when Ava least wants it.

Sara walks to the counter to place her order and then turns around, inevitably spotting Ava trying to hide behind a menu. “Agent Sharpe! What a pleasant surprise.” Sara saunters over and plops down in the booth opposite her.

“Can’t say the same, Detective Lance.” Ava frowns. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m waiting for company.”

“Don’t worry, I ordered take out.” Sara makes a dismissive gesture with her hand and remains seated.

“You’re so infuriating,” Ava breaths out, pinching the bridge of her nose. Sara only smirks.

“So, who are you meeting?”

“None of your business!”

Sara quirks her eyebrow at that.

“Seriously, can you just go?” Ava’s exasperated now, keeping an eye on the door.

“Oh, my God.” Sara sits straighter then. “Are you on a date?”

“I…uh...whatever.” Ava rolls her eyes, because, apparently, she’s doomed when it comes to dating. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have a date.”

The smile on Sara’s face falters a bit at that, but she recovers so quickly that Ava isn’t sure if she simply imagined it.

“Well, you should’ve said so.” Sara clears her throat and finally gets up. “Wouldn’t want to spoil it.” She sounds oddly deflated.

“Thank you.”

“See you around, Agent Sharpe.” With that Sara snatches her finished order from the counter and struts out.

Stephanie shows up five minutes later, but Ava feels like the earlier encounter with Sara completely ruined the mood.

Besides, the date is a bust anyway. Stephanie’s last name is fucking _Smith_.

Ugh.

********

It is a week later when Ava bumps into Sara again in the very same café. Stepping in, she narrows her eyes when she spots the familiar blonde at the counter and saunters over.

“Are you stalking me?”

Sara’s head whips to the side and the toothy grin thaws Ava’s frozen heart just a little.

“Stalking you? Why would I be stalking you? If I wanted to see you, I’d just turn up to mess one of your crime scenes.”

“Funny,” Ava deadpans and places her order.

“How was your date?”

“Peachy.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Anyway, since we’re both her for lunch, fancy sharing a booth, Supervisory Special Agent?”

“No.” Ava frowns.

“Suit yourself.” Sara shrugs. She takes her burger and finds an available booth at the back of the coffee house.

For some inexplicable reason, Ava feels bad for shooting Sara down so rudely, and she startles a little at that. When did she start caring about Sara Lance’s feelings, of all people? She has a reputation as a heartless bitch, which, in fact, isn’t too far from the truth. But there’s a new, nagging feeling somewhere deep inside of her, like it would actually _matter_ what Sara thinks of her. Her order is placed in front of her, and Ava sighs, her shoulders sagging. Grabbing her tray from the counter, she swallows her pride and strides over to the booth Sara conquered.

“Now that I think about it, seems kind of pointless to hog two booths.” She can’t quite bring herself to look at the blonde.

“My thoughts exactly.” Sara’s tone is anything but mocking, which is why Ava finally offers a small smile and takes a seat on the opposite side.

And _that_ is how Special Agent Ava Sharpe and Detective Sara Lance start a tradition of “completely by accident” bumping into each other on regular intervals at lunch time.

********

Ava is brushing her hair, sitting cross-legged on the bed one evening, when her phone makes a sound and startles her. No one ever messages her, which is why she immediately snatches up the phone, her hair brushing operation promptly forgotten.

 **Unknown number:** _Hey you!_

Ava frowns, the agent side of her immediately jumping to the more suspicious conclusions of why a number she doesn’t have saved in her phone would send her such a casual text.

 **Ava:** _Who the hell is this?_

 **Unknown number:** _Your secret admirer. ;)_

 **Ava:** _I’m tracing this number._

 **Unknown number:** _Chill, Agent Sharpe. It’s Sara. You may know me as Detective Lance? I’m just messing with you._

Despite herself, Ava feels a strange tingle of pleasure that Sara would quite randomly want to text her. She doesn’t let it show, though, as she quickly sends another text.

 **Ava:** _Where did you get my number??_

 **Unknown number:** _I’m not the only one who can access personal files. ;)_

 **Ava:** _How very discomforting._

 **Unknown number:** _Don’t worry, your file was squeaky clean._

 **Ava:** _Was there a reason you decided to bombard me with texts this evening?_

 **Unknown number:** _Are you going to be at the café tomorrow?_

 **Ava:** _Why?_

 **Unknown number:** _Because you haven’t been there for a few days and eating alone is starting to get boring._

Ava actually lets out a surprised chuckle and leans more comfortably against the pillows.

 **Ava:** _Are you saying you actually enjoy my company?_

 **Unknown number:** _No._

 **Ava:** _No?_

It takes longer for Sara to reply this time, but, finally, the agent’s phone pings.

 **Unknown number:** _Okay, yes._

 **Ava:** _I feel like this is a victory of some kind._

 **Unknown number:** _Gloating is unattractive, Agent._

 **Ava:** _It still feels like I won._

 **Unknown number:** _Whatever. So, lunch tomorrow?_

 **Ava:** _Maybe._

 **Unknown number:** _Way to leave a girl hanging!_

 **Ava:** _Good night, Miss Lance._

 **Unknown number:** _Good night, Miss Sharpe._

There’s an unfamiliar smile playing on Ava’s lips as places the phone back on the nightstand. Sara Lance is quickly becoming a regular part of her life, and Ava isn’t quite able to grasp why she doesn’t mind it as much as she probably should.

Quickly grabbing the phone one more time, she saves Sara’s number under “Detective Lance” and stares at it on her contacts list for a long time.

Sara Lance is ruining her life for sure.

********

“Oh, please! The third one is far superior to the first one.” Ava takes a bite of her sandwich in mid debate.

“Sure, it’s good. But the first Avengers is the one, true Avengers movie.” Sara hammers the point across by tapping her finger to the table in front of her.

“You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“Okay, we need to marathon through the movies, so that I can show you how wrong you are.”

“Maybe we should, but I warn you, I won’t budge.”

The sudden turn in the conversation remains hanging between them as their eyes meet across the table.

And, basically, that is how Ava ends up on Sara’s couch the following weekend, a glass of red wine in her hand and immersed in the world of Marvel.

Ava thinks it’s just a one-off thing, since Sara probably voiced her suggestion half by accident, but then Ava finds herself in Sara’s apartment again a week later, this time wading through all the movies Wonder Woman has appeared in. Ava doesn’t mind. At all.

Sara still annoys her greatly, mind you, but spending time with the detective does feel less pathetic than sitting at home alone eating take out and watching _Keeping up with the Kardashians_ reruns.

They keep meeting up more and more frequently outside of their “accidental” lunch dates, and Ava is surprised by how much she actually enjoys Sara’s company. If she’s being completely honest, her dates—though not _that_ kind of dates, she keeps unnecessarily reminding herself—with the detective are the highlights of her week. Not that she would admit that to anyone _ever_.

********

“What do you mean you don’t believe in soulmates?” Sara exclaims, aghast, in the middle of a crowded bar one evening, causing several people to glance their way.

“Please, shout it a little louder, won’t you? The people at the other end of the room didn’t quite catch that.” Ava rolls her eyes and raises a glass of wine to her lips indifferently, though she can still feel her cheeks blush slightly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just… How can you not believe?” Sara seems genuinely confused, and Ava just shrugs awkwardly. The younger woman’s eyes suddenly widen. “Oh, my God; you don’t have a tattoo?”

“Yes, I have a tattoo,” Ava scoffs somewhat exasperatedly.

This is the one conversation she does not want to have with Sara, and she only has herself to blame after flippantly declaring that the whole soulmates thing is a sham.

“You have a tattoo, but you don’t believe in it?”

“Nope.” Ava takes another sip of her wine, willing the alcohol to stop her from fidgeting under Sara’s steady gaze. The tattoo feels like it’s tingling, as if trying to prove her wrong, which annoys her greatly.

“How come?”

“Nothing interesting, I assure you.” She can’t quite meet Sara’s eyes. “Met the soulmate, got burned, the usual. The soulmate thing is not for me.”

“Or, that person just wasn’t your soulmate,” Sara offers, tipping her pint towards Ava to emphasize the point.

“Believe me, they were.” It still hurts, after all these years, and Ava hates Sonya for it; hates _herself_ for it.

Sara makes a sound, almost a snort, which clearly communicates that she thinks Ava is full of crap. 

_Whatever._

“So, what are they?” Sara raises a brow questioningly. She picks up a bowl of nuts from the table and starts consuming them with ridiculous speed.

Ava grimaces. “What are what?” She snatches the bowl from Sara. “Gross, you have no idea who’s been touching and sneezing in these.”

“Whatever.” Sara shrugs, licking the salty residue from her fingers, and Ava feels her cheeks color for a whole different reason. “I meant your tattoo, the initials. What are they?” 

“None of your damn business,” Ava snaps a little too eagerly, subconsciously tugging her sleeve down. Her tattoo feels like it’s burning now, though it might just be the general uncomfortableness which the entire conversation has brought forward.

Sara only grins at Ava’s obvious discomfort, but, thankfully, doesn’t push it.

“Anyway, what are you doing on Saturday?”

Ava’s momentarily perplexed by the peculiar non-sequitur.

“I was going to have a _House Hunters_ marathon,” she quips, relieved to talk about anything but the tattoos, and receives an amused chuckle from Sara. “But what do you have in mind?”

“Tell me, Miss FBI, how are you at hand-to-hand combat?”

It is Ava’s turn to raise her eyebrow in curiosity.

********

That Saturday, Ava finds out that Sara is incredible when it comes to martial arts, which means she finally has someone to spar with. Ava hasn’t lost to anyone in years, so the first time the agent’s back hits the mat, Sara grinning victoriously above her, she’s simply too stunned to feel annoyance. Instead, she accepts the offered hand and gets up from the floor, making sure it’s Sara who’s sprawled on the ground next.

“You’re not half bad,” Ava muses afterwards as she’s driving back towards Sara’s apartment.

“Please, I had you pinned down half the time,” Sara scoffs.

Ava feels her cheeks color at the mental image Sara’s words spring forward. Thankfully, it’s dark in the car, and she simply grips the steering wheel a little tighter.

Maybe it’s the easy banter between them, or the fact that Ava hasn’t felt as at ease in anyone’s company in a long time, but she suddenly makes a split-second decision and takes a left at an intersection where she should’ve taken a right.

“Where are you going?” Sara glances at her curiously, and Ava swallows.

“You’ll see.”

Ava hasn’t been in this place in forever, but when they arrive at the lookout spot, she remembers why the place is so special; the entire city with its thousands and thousands of lights is spreading before them like a mat of jewels. When Ava hears Sara gasp in awe next to her, the blonde leaning against the railing in order to get a better view, she knows she made the right decision.

“Wow, this is incredible.” Sara’s eyes are wide with wonder. “I never knew this place existed.”

Ava smiles and joins the other woman at the edge. The sea of lights is just as breathtaking as it used to be.

“How did you know this was here?” The blonde’s eyes are still fixed in the view before her.

“I used to come here with my dad.”

“But not anymore?” Sara finally turns to her, and Ava feels like squirming under the detective’s steady gaze.

“My parents, we…don’t have the best of relationships. Anymore, that is.”

It hadn’t been Ava’s plan to share, and definitely not _these_ things, but maybe she should’ve seen it coming, that bringing Sara here would make her spill her guts.

“I’m sorry.” Sara’s tone is so goddamn _sincere_ , and Ava lets out a nervous laugh.

“Their loss.” She shrugs, trying not to show how bad it still hurts.

“What happened?”

“They want a son-in-law.” It’s nearly spit out, the bitterness evident in Ava’s voice. “And, as it turns out, I’m not really the husband kind,” she adds dryly, making Sara snicker next to her.

“Like you said, their loss.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, both deep in thought, until Sara turns to Ava again, smirking and bumping the agent’s shoulder with her own.

“I bet you brought all your girls here. This is such a make out spot.”

Ava’s grip on the railing tightens. Her knuckles turn white as she refuses to look at the woman who’s somehow now standing a little too close for her liking.

“I’ve never brought anyone here before,” she rushes out, feeling the heat on her face, once again. 

Damn Sara Lance, making her _feel_ things.

Sara’s silent, and Ava is too chickenshit to gauge her reaction, so she just keeps her eyes on the lights. She wonders, not for the first time, what it is about Sara Lance that makes her act like a complete fool.

“I’m honored.” It’s said without ridicule.

Sara’s little finger briefly brushes against Ava’s on the railing, and Ava is certain she can feel her tattoo throb.

********

It is a few weeks later when Ava learns that getting shot really hurts just as much as one would think. She really should’ve been more careful, should’ve expected the perp was still around, but it’s pointless to think about that now as she’s bleeding on the cold concrete, only half aware of the hustle around her. She hears another agent, Gary, somewhere and manages to voice his name, although it hurts like hell.

“Agent Sharpe!” His face swims into her line of sight, and the sheer panic on his face tells her all she needs to know in regard to her injury.

“Don’t contact my parents,” Ava manages to croak out, struggling to hold eye contact with her subordinate.

“Do you want me to call someone else?”

_Yes, Sara._

“No, don’t call anyone.”

It’s all black after that.

********

Ava comes to in a dimly lit hospital room. She’s disoriented, not really sure of anything but the throbbing pain in her shoulder which makes her eyes water. Though, the sudden knowledge of the fact that the room is empty, and that she’s alone, invade her thoughts. She’s not actually sure if she’s ever felt more alone. All of a sudden, there’s someone standing beside the bed; a nurse, Ava deduces by the uniform. She can only make out some words about pain and morpheme, and then her shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. She’s about to thank them, but doesn’t get the chance, because, within seconds, she’s out like a light again.

********

It is a steady stream of speech that Ava latches on the next time she stirs, the words swirling around in her head as she tries to fight the blackness she’s submerged in. She cracks her eyes open, the bright halogen lights above her making it nothing short of challenging. 

“There’s finally a proper trailer for Captain Marvel, we totally need to see it the moment it’s out. Though, I doubt it’ll top Wonder Woman, I mean, c’mon, a badass Amazon wielding a sword? No competition there. That reminded me, you won’t believe the case I had today. So, this guy bought a sword online and…”

Ava would recognize that voice anywhere and, with great difficulty, she manages to turn her head just so that she can take in the woman sitting in a chair next to her bed. Sara is scrolling through her phone, constantly updating Ava on the content of her Facebook feed, seasoning her report with personal anecdotes.

The detective is in the middle of describing a funny cat video when she seems to sense someone watching her. Her eyes find Ava’s, and the smile splitting Sara’s face makes Ava’s heart skip a beat. She hopes the heart monitor doesn’t pick up on it.

“Hey you.” Sara’s standing next to the bed in an instant, peering down at her.

Ava struggles to move the oxygen mask, but, finally, with Sara’s help, she manages to do so.

“Hey.” It comes out as a whisper, her throat dryer than the Sahara. Her shoulder throbs as she coughs. “Did you say there's a new Captain Marvel trailer?” she finally manages to croak out.

Sara’s laugh fills the room, and the pain is suddenly a little less prominent.

With staggering clarity, Ava knows she wants to hear Sara’s laugh every day for the rest of her life.

********

Sara is, yet again, sitting in the very same hospital chair, in a position that cannot be ergonomically good. This time, she is relating a story about her partner on the force, Nate. Ava’s only half listening, still slightly groggy from all the medication, but she feels like Sara understands, like she isn’t even expecting Ava to be fully aware of her babbling.

“How did you know I was here?” Ava suddenly interrupts the other woman in the middle of a story about how Nate once accidentally consumed a hallucinogenic compound.

“What?”

“How did you know to come to the hospital?”

“An agent gets shot in my precinct, I’ll know about it.”

The answer is vague, and it doesn’t explain why Sara keeps turning up in Ava’s hospital room every day after work. Not that Ava is complaining, quite the contrary.

“I’m glad you did,” she mutters sincerely.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.” Sara’s eyes are warm, and Ava doesn’t quite know what to do with the herd of butterflies at the pit of her stomach.

She settles to simply enjoying the other woman’s company.

Though, after Ava gets released from the hospital a week later, she figures all good things must come to an end. In hindsight, she should’ve known to expect it, that Sara would still go all out for her. She’s too dumbfounded to protest when the detective picks her up from the hospital with three bags full of groceries for her on the backseat.

As it turns out, Sara continues being her wonderful self and, almost daily, brings Ava chicken soup and coffee and whatever the agent seems to crave that day.

It’s almost too wonderful, Ava realizes, after her shoulder has nearly completely healed, and she has no excuses for Sara to keep coming to her apartment. Ava realizes that she just feels happy when Sara is around—nearly deliriously so—and then absolutely miserable when she leaves.

The bowl of chicken soup hits the table with a loud clank as Ava _really_ starts pondering her life choices. It is all suddenly so clear in her mind; that she wants Sara around her, the annoying, ridiculously chipper, polar opposite detective. Ava wants to see her every day, she wants to hold her hand and see that smile which always makes her heart beat just a tiny bit faster.

And therein lays the problem.

Because _that_ will never be.

For the first time in a while, the tattoo on her arm seems like it’s mocking her. Angrily, Ava rolls down her shirt sleeve and sinks back into the sofa. It is the biggest irony of her life that she would find someone with the matching initials again, someone who she finds nearly perfect, but that someone doesn’t want her back, would never want her back – all because of some stupid letters magically carved in their skin.

The tears come before Ava can stop them, silently falling down her cheeks, and she buries her head in her hands, wondering what she did to deserve the mockery of a life she is living.

********

It is after her third glass of wine when Ava comes to the conclusion that she simply needs to see less of Sara. She needs to get rid of this ridiculous crush she has, because nothing good will come out of her insane doting over the other woman.

Sara hasn’t texted her in a few days anyway; she is probably off dating Emma, or Erica, or some other tart. A wave of jealousy washes over her.

Ava pours herself another glass and decides she will speak to Sara tomorrow, shooting the woman a quick text.

 **Ava:** _Are you free for lunch tomorrow?_

Her phone pings only 10 seconds later.

 **Detective Lance:** _Always. :)_

Ava’s heart involuntarily skips a beat.

Sara _fucking_ Lance.

For the umpteenth time since that faithful day, Ava muses that she never should have stepped a foot into that goddamn crime scene all those months ago.

********

Their signature café is busier than usual when Ava steps in, and it takes her a while to gather her bearings. From behind a long queue at the till, her eyes finally land on Sara, a spontaneous smile appearing on her lips at seeing the detective after several days.

She takes a step forward, attempting to go around the line of people, when she registers that Sara is, in fact, not alone. She’s standing, talking happily to a blonde who has her hand on Sara’s arm, and Ava tries so very hard not to be jealous, because she has absolutely no right to be.

Sara smiles, like, _really_ smiles, and the unfamiliar woman steps forward, wrapping her arms around Ava’s…friend? Acquaintance? Ava has no idea what Sara is to her, but she knows the feeling of betrayal within her is not warranted. Sara has no obligations when it comes to her, and yet, Ava feels rage bubbling at the pit of her stomach.

How dare Sara bring someone to _their_ café? She ignores the small voice at the back of her mind telling her that Sara is free to do whatever she goddamn pleases.

Sara is pulling back from the hug when her eyes land on Ava, and if Ava expected Sara’s reaction to be that of embarrassment or awkwardness, it’s neither. She grins and smiles at Ava, indicating for her to come over, and the last thing Ava sees before promptly turning on her heels and fleeing the café is the other woman turning around, a curious look on her face.

Of course Sara’s mystery woman is gorgeous. _Of course_. 

“Fuck my life,” Ava mutters to herself as she practically runs to her car and speeds away.

********

After driving around aimlessly, Ava finds herself at the familiar lookout spot, the sea of the city lights, once again, spreading before her in the distance. She feels ridiculous, storming out of the café the way that she had, but, lately, it has been more and more difficult to see Sara as just a friend. Ava sighs and, for the first time, consciously admits something she has known to be true for a while: she’s falling for Sara fucking Lance.

 _That’s not true_ , her brain immediately betrays her.

She has already fallen, and it seems like a fitting punishment for not believing in faith for so long, falling for someone who can never be more than a friend in return.

Someone suddenly sits beside her, and Ava doesn’t need to take a look to know it’s the person who’s personally responsible for her inner turmoil.

“What are you doing here?” Ava’s voice is hoarse, and she hates herself for it.

“Looking for you.” Sara turns to her, eyes thoughtful, worried. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine.”

“Why did you leave then?”

Ava can feel the warmth radiating from the other woman, her hand tingling where Sara’s finger slightly brushes against it. She can’t take it and stands up, moving to lean against the railing, eyes trained at the lights. Sara doesn’t join her, doesn’t pressure her. Instead, the detective lets her take the space she so desperately needs.

“I didn’t feel well.” Well, it was true, just not the whole truth.

“Would it, umm, make a difference if I told you the woman you saw me with was my sister, Laurel?”

Well, _fuck_.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” Ava mumbles, burying her face in her hands. She hears Sara give a small chuckle somewhere behind her.

“What is this really about, Sharpe?”

Sara’s voice is gentle, and it is for that reason only that Ava dares to turn around, her hands still gripping the railing for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. She feels like she’s about to ruin the best things that’s ever happened to her.

“For what?” Sara finally stands up, but doesn’t move closer.

Ava knows she could still stop this; she could just run away and never look back. But, instead, she stands rooted to the spot, making a decision which, she knows, will change everything. She owes it to herself, at least.

Ava hates the way her hand trembles as she slowly pulls up the sleeve of her shirt, revealing the tattoo that no one has seen in a long, long time.

“I so want it to be you, Sara.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “And it’s stupid, because I know we can’t-, that I… You see, I can’t be just friends with you, I’m sorry.”

She can’t bear looking at Sara, so she stares at her toes instead, deflated. That is why she misses the small gasp escaping the other woman’s lips, misses the way Sara’s features soften as she looks at Ava. It is also why she misses the few strides Sara takes until the blonde is standing right in front of her, holding Ava’s face between her hands and smiling blindingly, reverently, at her.

“What are you doing?” Ava murmurs, taking an involuntary step back.

“Something I should’ve done a long time ago.” Sara’s voice is equally soft. “I don’t think we were ever properly introduced, Agent Sharpe. I’m Sara.”

Ava blinks, and, despite everything, hope suddenly stirs in her, even if she desperately tries to quell it.

Silence falls between them as Ava studies Sara, feels the warm hand around her wrist where Sara has wrapped it a moment earlier as if to keep her from escaping. But Ava knows she won’t bolt, not this time; she’s going to see this through. She breathes in and, finally, takes the plunge: “Ava. I'm Ava.”

There’s a tremulous smile on Sara’s face as she slowly pulls down the collar of her shirt, revealing a small tattoo just below her collarbone.

_A.S._

Suddenly, Ava wants to believe. She so desperately wants to believe.

A strangled sob makes its way out of her mouth, and she fists her hands in Sara’s shirt as the other woman slowly cups her face again, wiping away a tear Ava didn’t even notice had fallen. Sara’s eyes are sparkling, her signature smile the most beautiful thing Ava has ever seen.

“Nice to meet you, Ava.”

Sara’s lips touch hers, and Ava feels like she’s finally home, like she can breathe for the first time in years. She kisses Sara back, and as Sara pulls her even closer, she knows she’s irrevocably ruined for everyone else – just like she was supposed to be.

They break apart, coming up for air, and Sara tenderly brushes a lock of hair behind Ava’s ear. Ava smiles sheepishly, then, a tint of red coloring her cheeks.

“Nice to meet you, too, Sara.”

********

Ava admits she wants to strangle the detective when she learns that the sole reason Sara said she was going on a date with the Emily chick way back when was simply because she wanted to rile Ava up. 

“I wanted to make you jealous.” Sara shrugs like it’s nothing. “I can be a little petty at times.”

“You couldn’t think of a name starting with an A?” Ava’s shooting daggers at this point.

“Hindsight is always 20/20.”

“Oh, my God.”

Sara just keeps smirking in that ridiculously attractive way of hers, and Ava helplessly feels her frustration dissipate. Trying to stay irritated is futile.

Ava has come to realize that she is utterly helpless, in general, when it comes to Sara Lance.

Ava runs her fingers along Sara’s collarbone one morning, in awe of the way her heart thumps just a little bit faster when she looks at the sleeping woman next to her. The feeling of completeness takes over her, and she slides her hand above the black letters that—she must be imagining it—feel almost hot to her touch.

“I’m so glad it’s you.”

Ava’s fingers still as she glances up at Sara who’s now looking at her with so much love that Ava wants to cry. _Again_. She’s done a lot crying lately, which she finds rather inconvenient.

“Me too,” Ava whispers as Sara covers her hand with her own. “When did you know?”

“The moment I met you.”

Ava scoffs.

“Liar.”

“I’m serious.” Sara lifts the hand to her lips and kisses it. “No one has ever infuriated me the way you did when you stalked into that crime scene and ripped me a new one.” Sara laughs at Ava’s eye roll. “I just knew there was something different about you, and then you shoved your badge in my face and…the initials matched.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You despised me.” Sara chuckles.

“Touché.”

“I figured we’d find our way to each other eventually.”

Ava looks away, guilt written all over her face, because why wouldn’t she feel guilty? She was _such_ an asshole when they met.

Sara interrupts her train of thought, quickly pushing herself on top of Ava, hand cupping her face and eyes searching.

“Ava, don’t you dare.” Her voice is stern, but the way she looks at Ava is so opposite of stern that Ava forgets how to breathe for a moment.

“But, I-,”

“Not another word. We’re here now, aren’t we?”

Ava blinks, wondering what she did right to actually deserve being in this very moment, with Sara, the detective looking at her as if she is the most amazing person on the planet. With desperation, she pulls Sara to her, crashing their lips together in hopes to be proven that she’s worthy; worthy of the happiness bubbling inside of her, worthy on being loved.

Sara does just that, like she always does. She erases every inkling of self-doubt, of fear, Ava is feeling, her hands skillfully dancing on the agent’s skin, because she instinctively knows Ava better than anyone ever has – or ever will. Sara’s lips are soft and warm against Ava’s, and Ava sighs contentedly into the kiss.

Ava knows she will never tire of this, of being the sole focus of Sara’s attention.

Sara is looking down at her, smiling in that familiar way of hers, and Ava can’t help smiling back. Quite on their own accord, she hears those three little words slip from her lips for the first time, much more effortlessly than she ever thought they would. And when Sara repeats them back to her, drowning Ava in happy, playful kisses, Ava admits that she was dead wrong for all those years; she truly had no idea what being in love with a soulmate feels like until Sara Lance waltzed into her life.

All of a sudden, it dawns on her with more clarity than ever before; Ava Sharpe believes. She believes with all that she has.

**FIN.**


End file.
